


We're Shameless and Awake

by OperaGoose



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - TV Show Fusion, Consensual Underage Sex, Inspired by Shameless (US), M/M, Nanny Ignis, Programmer Prompto, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, parental neglect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 03:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15161924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OperaGoose/pseuds/OperaGoose
Summary: Inspired by Shameless (US).The Scientias have collected all sorts of foster kids, as a cash grab to fuel their habits, before bouncing town. Ignis is a harried pseudo-parent of three.Prompto's a kid with a head for every kind of tech he's ever come across, making cash unbricking tech for anyone who's got enough money. And he's failing school because he can't be bothered.Iris is a sweet girl, but she's got a streak of violence and a chip on her shoulder. Her brother Gladiolus (a beautiful specimen of a man who is unfortunately terminally straight) is fighting the courts for her custody. If she can stay out of juvie long enough.And poor Talcott, child genius, if he doesn't follow Prompto's path of boredom and truancy.And then he's practically rearing up one certain Noctis, heir to the Lucis Caelum fortune. If Prompto doesn't milk his trust fund dry first.





	We're Shameless and Awake

**Author's Note:**

> All 'underage' sex is consensual and takes place between teenagers over the age of sixteen - which is legal in my country and most states, but the tag is there just in case. Smoking and drinking is straight up though - see the source material.

“Twenty crowns,” Prompto said, pushing the laptop bag across the park bench. 

“Are you kidding me?” The guy asked, sneering at him. “Coulda done it at the shop for that!” 

“Yeah, and then they would’ve spotted your hidden folder in the program files and been forced to report you to the Crownsguard. Thirty crowns.” 

“Thirty? You said twenty, you Niff piece of shit!” 

“Now I’m charging hush money. Call me Niff again and I’m tipping my frappe on it.” He stuck the straw between his teeth and looked up at him patiently. 

“Fucker.” He dolled out thirty-five crowns and swept up the laptop. He strolled back down the alleyway and Prompto snorted, shoving the cash into his sock. 

He tugged a beat-up pack of Winston blues and flipped it open to take out a rollie. He flicked his thumb across the flint of his disposable, but it didn’t light. Swearing, he shook it up again and tried until a little flame caught. Enough to light his smoke. 

He jiggled his knees as he sat, trying to get some blood back into his feet. Autumn was dying, and their squirrel fund was dangerously low already. He’d probably find Iggy with a calculator when he got home. 

He’d steal another lighter from somewhere. Or bum lights for a bit. A lighter now was a bag of milk come wintertime. 

It was getting dark. He should probably get back to the apartment. He tossed the empty frappe cup towards the nearby bin. 

“Bit cold for iced coffee, isn’t it?” 

He followed his eyes over to the source of the noise. It was a guy in a familiar uniform. The “public” school – but in the centre of the city that only the rich elite lived in. 

“Like it better that way,” he said. The barista he unbricked phones for could only get away with ‘screwing up’ the ridiculously fancy orders from Starbucks to pass him through the back door. 

“You’re the tech kid, right?” He asked. “Kid in my geography class said you redid his KaibaBox after it bricked up.” 

He had a KaibaBox unbricking probably every month from that school. “Gotta learn to stop hacking those for boosts in Underwatch. Idiots.” He stubbed out his cigarette on the burnt furrow in the picnic table. “You bricked something?” 

“No, I uh. Do you do car keys? Dad’ll kill me if he finds out I lost the spare.” 

“Just central locking, or one of those new ones that run the whole car?” Prompto asked. 

“Uh... the second one? There’s no ignition key?” The guy said uncertainly. 

He snorted at that. “Five hundred. Gonna need half up front just to get the materials.” 

The guy – pretty, Prompto noticed – widened his eyes. Pretty blue eyes, with dark thick lashes. “Five hundred crowns?” He echoed. 

“Take it or leave it. I jack up the prices for people who argue. You can get Maqui on the North Side to do it for you, but he’ll charge you more than me and do a shit job.” He took out a cigarette and held it between his teeth. 

“No, I mean... dealer wanted to charge seven fifty and he wasn’t going to be discrete about it.” 

“That’s car dealers for you,” Prompto replied. “Gonna need your key now. Make sure it looks close, lift the code.” 

“How long’s it going to take?” The guy asked, shifting nervously. 

“Depends on the model. Might have to write a new program to lift it. Could take a week. Cost you an extra hundred if you want me to make it top priority. Might be able to make the program overnight but the physical key is gonna take longer.” 

The fancy guy groaned and took a key out of his pocket. “Look, I need this back as soon as possible. Literally, I don’t care if it’s two in the morning. Call me, please.” 

“Gonna need a number for that,” Prompto replied. “And a 200 pack of Benson and Hedges.” 

“I can’t exactly go buy them in my uniform,” the guy mumbled. “I’ll give you the money, okay?” He got out his wallet and pulled out a fistful of notes. He pushed them at Prompto. “Just... rush it. Please.” 

He flipped through the sheets of paper. A cool thou and then some. He tucked it into his pocket. “Still gonna need your number then.” 

The guy fiddled through the square briefcase uniform schoolbag to get out a notebook. He wrote down a number and shoved it into Prompto’s hand as well. “Don’t... share that with anyone, alright?” 

“Yeah, fine.” He glanced at the paper. “Noct.” 

The kid ducked back down the alley, trying to look discrete and looking anything butt. Prompto snorted. Rich kids. He hid the bulk of the money under the sole of his shoe and kept the rest in pocket. 

  


He came home after dark, grocery bags in his arms. “Guess who scammed an uptown high schooler?” He called. “Talcott! Come help me with these bags.” 

The seven year old came over, nose half-buried in a book, grabbing one of the bags from under Prompto’s arms. “You bought vegetables?” 

“Iggy in the kitchen?” 

“I am!” 

“They eat yet?” He asked, carrying the rest of the bags in. 

“Iris said she’d bring home leftovers from dinner with her brother.” Iggy – aka, Ignis Scientia, the backbone and brains and wallet and beating heart of their entire household – was sitting behind the laptop screen, a pile of receipts and bills beside him. He looked up from the screen over a pair of cracked spectacles and scowled. “You brought groceries.” 

“Yeah. I need the laptop for a rush job,” he answered. 

“You didn’t take the coupon book.” Ignis said in disapproval. “I’ve carefully crafted the budget and if you don’t bargain then—” 

“I got twelve hundred and thirteen crowns to make a keyless spare. ASAP. And I only got off-brands and reduced and those funny vegetables from the markets they can’t sell because they’re the wrong shape and size.” He put down the grocery bags and tugged off a shoe, getting the crisp notes out from under his sole. “Seven hundred, okay? I brought a hundred Bennies and a hundred Winnie Blues – I’ll sell them for five a stick and keep us going for a while.” 

“And when will you do this, Prompto?” Ignis asked, sliding off his glasses and massaging his eyes. “When you _should_ be studying?” 

He winced. “Found my Math test?” He mumbled. 

“No. The school called. You’re one more failed test away from getting expelled, Prompto.” 

“It’s just math,” he complained. “What’s it matter?” 

“It is _not_ only mathematics,” Ignis said, glaring at him somewhat unfocused. “It’s also history, and geography, and literature, and _computer science_ , Prompto. How are _you_ failing computer science?” 

“CompSci is bullshit,” Prompto replied. “How to input and output data. I’ve been doing that since I was eight.” 

“Then go to the bloody classes, Prompto.” He pushed the lid of the laptop down and gathered up his receipts. “You can take care of this latest job, but that’s it. No more side work until your grades are up. Your teachers have agreed to do extra-credit and catch up tests. On account of your mother’s incarceration.” 

“My mother’s not incarcerated.” 

“Mrs Argentum is. I told you that.” 

“Oh yeah. Forgot about that. Altissia Penitentiary again?” 

“Ulwaat Minimum Security.” 

“Nice. Must’ve pled out for once.” 

“Prompto, don’t think you’ve succeeded in changing the subject. I mean it. If I have to walk you to school myself on Monday, I will.” 

“Don’t. I’ll go.” He complained. “That nanny shit is the best job you’ve had in months.” 

“I’m not a _Nanny_ , Prompto. Nannies are for children. My official title is Housekeeper.” 

“You cook and clean and drive around for a sixteen year old brat who’ll never have to work a day in his life,” Prompto said. “It’s a nanny, even if you’re not gonna call it that.” 

Iggy sighed and pushed his glasses back on. “You got recepits for that, at least?” 

“Yep. Had Old Man Furloch hand-write me one just for you.” He tugged them out of the bags and handed them over. 

Iggy tucked them into the pile of receipts stuffed in his pocket book. “Go do the programming. We have a reputation to protect. I’ll cook dinner.” He opened the bag and gave a deep inhale. “Fresh vegetables. I’m almost not mad at you for forgetting the coupon book.” 

Prompto laughed, picked up the laptop, and headed up to his room.


End file.
